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bluebird

lydia, pt. 1

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i think of rich

mulberry hues 

whenever i hear 

your name

the kind of

purple that

can't be synthetic

your namesake

was a saint and

your birth month 

the amethyst heart 

of winter i

always said i 

wanted your eyes, 

terra cotta flecked copper

(unlike mine-

oxidized)

and your freckles

stippled on

with the lightest

touch

 

 

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